


Bright as Grey

by KatelynMJ17



Category: Love - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Character Death, Dark, Dark Comedy, Depression, Domestic Violence, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Funny, Humor, Journey, Kidnapping, Leaving Home, Literature, Love, Mental Health Issues, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Romance, Sad, Social Anxiety, Soul-Searching, Suicide, Violence, philosophical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-08 16:06:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12868128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatelynMJ17/pseuds/KatelynMJ17
Summary: Carter is an average teenager living with a drunken abusive father and an emotionally unavailable mother. He lives in a constant state of fear and boredom, and everything around him is dull and grey. When an intriguing new girl comes to school he finds his world flipped upside down after she mysteriouly dissapears and its up to him to find her.Hi this is my first story on here! Im super bad at summaries but I promise its a lot less boring than that summary XD just a warning there are a lot of references to philosophy and signifigant figures in literature which I try my best to explain but if your confused at all don't worry few people understand my weird jokes and references lol Hope you enjoy the story :)





	1. Doe a deer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Art3misPlayerOne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misPlayerOne/gifts).



I was nine years old when I killed the deer. My father had woken up on a lazy Sunday, stumbled out of bed, and after watching me for the hundredth time tie a bow on our dog Lucy, he gruffly proclaimed he was taking me hunting. He hated when I tied a bow on the dog. He told me to stop dressing her up, that it was girly and that I was a fag. My father was always telling me I was a fag, that was one thing about my life that had never changed, that and the town where I was born. We lived in a little town in Maine called Winterville, which was a part of Aroostook County, it was about four hours from Quebec. That’s where my mother was from, and where my father had met her. My father was as big as a black bear, with arms like tree trunks and a face as hard as his heart. He was constantly out with our two bloodhounds, Lucy and Gale, stalking the woods for deer. We ate venison almost everyday, for every meal, and my father could tear into a tough deer leg as if it were tissue paper. My mother was quite the opposite of him. She was a small, delicate woman from a small town in Canada called Saint-François-de-Madawaska, which was apart of Madawaska county. The town was nicknamed the “chicken capital” because they’re best known for their poultry. That’s what my mother had done, raised high-grade chickens on a small farm, and that’s where my father had met her, buying chicks for his own farm back home. They met and she was drawn to his good looks and rugged hardness of a man born in the wild, he was drawn to her pretty face. They had a one night stand, and nine months later out popped me. My parents are both extremely Christian, and so were my mothers parents, so lets just say they were less than thrilled when they found out she had gotten pregnant out of wedlock, even if it was 1998, as progressive as the rest of the world was, my family was trapped in their ways, hell they still are. They kicked her out of their house, and she was forced to marry my father and travel across the border and live with him. Abortion wasn’t an option, my father had made that clear, although neither of them wanted a kid (they still don’t) and everyday I see her I know my mother still regrets ever meeting him, but just like me she’s stuck with him now. You would think that would have bonded us, but my mother much like where she’s from, remains cold and distant. To paint you an even better picture of what she’s like, is how she sometimes reminds me of the hens we used to raise, she pecks around the house nervously, never wanting to ruffle the feathers of the rooster. She’s quiet, and has never made much comments towards me unless they are negative. She’s always picking at me, about anything really that she can think of. She especially loves to poke at the fact that I’m “so skinny why are you always so skinny?” I needed more meat. That’s what she said anyway. Truth was I didn’t think I would ever grow, at nine I was incredibly small for my age, and thin. I’m still skinny as a beanstalk today, but I’m tall as one too.  
My father hated how small I was when I was little, I mean he hates me in general but that was one of the many reasons. He was constantly pushing me to participate in rough sports, go on hunts with him, fish, anything he could to get me to toughen up and look more like a man instead of a scrawny drowned rat. As I got older it only got worse, he bullied me constantly, still does, my mom always stays out of it, never once has she defended me. I know its because she’s afraid to get in the way, honestly I’m not mad I don’t blame her. He hits her too, I come home from school sometimes and she’s covered in bruises and red marks. It pains me to see her like that. We may not have a real relationship, and I’m pretty sure she blames me for being stuck with him, but she’s still my mom you know? Unlike her though, I find small ways to retaliate. Like I said, my father’s extremely Christian not only that but very homophobic. You'd think someone who thinks they're as tough as he does wouldn’t be scared of the thought of two dudes kissing. Anyway, I know that god forbid- I was to ever come out to him as gay I would be pounded to a pulp. He’s terrified of me being a “fag” and so I find ways to piss him off by convincing him I am. One time when I was thirteen, I waited till I knew he was on his way home and went upstairs and put on my moms red lipstick. When he saw me he started screaming bloody murder, how “no son of his would turn out to be some queer”, he chased me around the house till he had pinned me down and punched me so hard I blacked out. When I was fourteen, I bleached a patch of my hair blonde. Again he hollered till my ears rang and hit me till I was black and blue. Sounds awful I know, but finding ways to piss him off is one of the few joys I have in life so if anything you should be happy for me, and the beatings are worth it. I’m not like him, I don’t care whether someone’s gay or not. I just don’t get what the big deal is, as far as I’m concerned all marriages are miserable, what does it matter if gay people want to be as miserable as the rest of us? And by the way, I’m not telling this to make you feel bad for me, I can’t stand pity. Take an old bum on the street, you walk by a guy like that and most people would feel bad for that old bum, they’d say “now there's a real sorry sucker, poor guy. Bet he fell off the wagon and spends any penny he has on drugs” they’d go and say something really crappy like that like they know just by looking at him that he spends all his money on drugs and that’s how he got to be that way. I can’t stand that, it just pisses me off, for all you know that man could be the happiest man in the world. But people just think they know you just by looking at you. You know as awful as this sounds, I wish I was gay just to spite my father, but I think if I was he might really kill me, cut off my head like he used to do to our chickens, before he plucked out there feathers. Sorry If I’m getting sidetracked. I guess my mind just can’t stay in one place for too long. I’ve forgotten the story I was telling. Something about a deer right? Yea I remember now. Like I was saying, my father woke me up at the crack ass of dawn that Sunday and dragged me out of bed, he told me to throw some clothes on cause we were going hunting. As a kid, I loved animals. I used to make pinecone birdfeeders for the sparrows and jays in the woods, and left out sunflower seeds on the back deck so I could watch the squirrels jump on the railing and eat them. When I was six, my father brought home two bloodhound puppies and I had been happier than I had ever been in my short life, I begged him to let them stay in my room, he refused and told me they weren’t pets, but hunting dogs, they would stay outside. At night I heard them cry and I snuck out to the shed and fell asleep with them in my arms. That earned me a beating from my father and a beating for both dogs. He wanted the dogs to be bloodthirsty not coddled. I was sorry I had ever gone to see them, I just don’t think hurting animals is right. So you can imagine my devastation that morning as I pulled on my boots and a jacket, that I would have to spend the day watching my father kill innocent woodland creatures. We headed off into the acres of thick pines that surrounded our cabin and I begged him to let me stay home with my mother, he smacked me on the head and told me to man up. He was always telling me to “man up”, as if he’d ever spent his life acting like a man. You tell me what kind of man beats puppies, and ill hand him a mirror with an asshole in the reflection. We had been hiking for hours, and honestly I wasn’t having such a bad time. So far, we hadn’t killed any animals, and the woods were beautiful in the late fall, and the sun was warm on my back. But then my father grabbed me and yanked me to the ground beside him. We were behind a bush, and he was staring at something up ahead. I remember the panic in my chest when I saw the deer. It was a beautiful doe, with golden fur and a wet black nose. She had a beautiful whitetail and not far off we could see two fawns prancing around as she grazed. They must have been her babies. They were cute little things, with spots on their backs and little wet black noses, and they played on, having no idea the imminent danger they were in. My father pushed the heavy shotgun into my arms, and I was so startled I almost dropped it. He held his fingers to his lips, and pointed at the deer then mimed shooting a gun. Yeah I got the point, problem was there had been no doubt in my mind at the time that there was no way I was killing that deer. I just couldn’t. If that made me weak then fine. I stared at the shotgun and shook my head at him. I pushed it back towards him. He was furious and his beady dark eyes were full of disgust. He grabbed me roughly and placed the butt of the gun in the crook of my elbow, then grabbed my other arm and placed it on the barrel, he wrapped my fingers around the trigger. I was shaking like a leaf, but he didn’t care, he smashed my head to the scope, and hissed in my ear, “line up the shot”. I raised the barrel of the gun shakily, and through it I could see the doe up close. Her nose snuffled the grass, and her large ears swiveled, listening for predators. I couldn’t kill her, it just didn’t feel right. I know I must seem to you like some big baby but I can’t explain I just can’t stand to watch an animal die. Even when my father used to cut the heads of the chickens, I’d have to run away and sometimes I even cried, when I was little. I took my head away from the scope, but my father pushed it back down, forcing me to look. He hissed in my ear again, promising he’d break both my legs if I didn’t shoot the deer. My arms were shaking so bad now, I could barely grip the trigger but out of fear I managed, and aimed at the doe’s head. When she turned she was looking straight at me through the scope, those large brown eyes so beautiful and startled. You know how people always say crap about how animals can “see your soul” and a dog can tell if you’re a shitty person? Well I swear, that deer saw straight into my heart that day. Before I had time to react, my fathers finger squeezed around the trigger and BANG.  
I closed my eyes and dropped the gun. The deer’s fawns looked up startled and then shot into the bushes, and I saw the dead body of the doe on the ground and cried. My father pushed me so hard I fell, told me to stop being such a pussy. I know, great guy right? I mean what kind of guy puts a kid through something like that? It wasn’t like I was one of those kids that loves to trek after their father and spend the day shooting things. If I was then I’m sure my father would have been thrilled, but that’s just not what I’m about, and Ill tell you what I’m not very sorry about it neither. As my father dragged the deer dead body back home I couldn’t help thinking about the orphaned baby deer we left behind. We brought the deer home to cook it and have dinner. I refused to eat it, and my father shouted so loud that my mother had to press her hands to her ears. I ran away from him and upstairs, I closed the bathroom door behind me and threw up. I was nine years old then, now I’m nearly seventeen. I still can’t stand to eat venison without throwing up. 

I suppose I should tell you my name, or maybe you don’t care. After all, its not like I know you, but if your reading this and you manage to finish then you’ll know me, that is, if I even end this stupid thing. My name is James Lincoln Carter, though most people just call me Carter, and when I was younger my mother called me Jem before she figured out that she didn’t like me and didn’t like being a mother. I’m sixteen, seventeen in a week. I already told you where I live, though I guess I didn’t tell you about my house, probably cause there’s not much to tell, as it's not that much of a house. I live with my mother and my gem of a father in a small cabin in the woods, a short ways down an old dirt road. There’s a small farm, or what used to be a farm anyways, to the left of the house. As I said earlier, we used to raise chickens, we would sell their eggs and my father sometimes sold their meat. One year, they all got sick from some disease in the bugs they were eating and they died. That was the same year my father's drinking started to get really bad, and he never got around to buying new chicks. We used to have a donkey too, an old one in the little shed of a barn. Her name was Matilda, she came with a horse my father had bought for free to plow our small field. The horse was old and her owner had no use for her and no one else would buy her for much, his name was something I can’t remember but we called him Fly because he was always covered in them. I loved that donkey and the horse. I would ride around bareback, not real fast or anything and I never tried to control him with reins. We would just walk around the fenced in field. But the horse got sick, so my father sold him with an ad in the paper, never mentioning that he was diseased and would probably die in a month. Shortly after Matilda got sick too, but it was a different kind of sick. She had lost the will to live and died of loneliness because my father had sent away her best friend. Isn’t that the saddest thing? I couldn’t ever imagine loving someone as much as that, loving someone so hard that when they leave it kills you.


	2. A sunny surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third chapter should be up Saturday :) this chapters dedicated to Art3misPlayerOne, honestly, the whole book is shes an incredible author I love her work!

Today was my first day back at school. I go to Fort Kent Community High School, it’s the closest school to my house and it takes a little over an hour to get there by bus. Which is probably about the same time it takes to get into hell because both places are one in the same. It’s a long ugly brick and white building, with rows and rows of windows that never let in enough air to rid the stink of too many high school kids that have never seen a stick of deodorant in their lives, and if they have they probably eat the damn things because they sure as hell aren’t wearing it. It’s a tiny school, with an even smaller population. Only about seventy kids per grade. After spending way more time than I would like with these kids it's safe to say I know most of them better than I would like. So when I walked into first period I was, like everyone else, surprised to see a new face in our midst. When I saw her I swear I could hear angels singing. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and instantly I was in love. She had golden skin and long blonde hair. Her eyes were the brightest blue and her teeth were perfect pearly whites. I knew this because her face was stretched in the hugest of smiles, which was a nice change from the desolate vacant stares and permanent scowls of my treasured classmates. There was already a cloud around her of jocks and popular girls, pelting questions at her. This was no surprise, she was gorgeous, and pretty people always get put on the pedestals. She would become a part of the popular pack as if she had been there since the beginning, and she would never glance my way, of course. You would think this would make me sad or disappointed, considering two seconds ago I told you I was in love with her. But I was glad. Every year I continued to pick the most beautiful girls to fall in love with, always and forever out of my reach and league. I knew they would never love me back, and every year I tried and had my heart broken. But it was the same old song and dance and without its familiar beat I’d be lost. I think if I ever did end up with a girl like that I would be too scared that she would leave me, and that would be far worse. I would end up like poor old Matilda, dead of a lonely, broken heart after my only love left. 

When Mr. Friar finally started class it was almost halfway over. He hadn’t even bothered to get out of his creaky old desk chair, just made a noise in his throat like a cat hacking up a hairball and everyone eventually quieted down. I’m almost positive that Mr. Friar has taught at this school before there was even an idea to make a school. He kinda reminds me of a turtle, almost completely bald, with a round head that sticks out of his turtlenecks like they’re his shell, except he’s got more wrinkles if its even possible. He might actually move less than glaciers, though it hasn’t yet been proven, but I say we stop sending men to the moon and get NASA to focus on proving that instead. If you replaced him with a cardboard cut out of himself, it might actually have a little more zest for life than him. I could go on literally all day but you get the point. The guys old as dirt. He teaches history and I had him my freshman and sophomore years, and while you think two years with the same teacher might mean you get to know them better I still don’t even know his first name. I’m willing to bet it’s one of those real old guy names though, like Samuel or Floyd. I would know it except that it's printed on his lanyard which is as old as he is so its pretty much completely faded by now. They really should get him a new one but I’m pretty sure he’s never taken the old one off, even to sleep or shower.  
“You all know the syllabus by now, or I should hope you do. I won’t take any tom-foolery in this class. Assignments are to be turned in on time, for every day they’re late I will dock you ten points. You are in eleventh grade now and you’re more than capable of doing homework, so in my class this year I’ve decided that to encourage you all to do more homework I’m putting them in the grade book as classwork grades.” Everyone collectively groaned, even me and I’m not one to “collectively” anything.  
“Also, we have a new student joining us this year, Lydia Grey. Miss Grey is from California so everyone give her a warm welcome.” Everyone clapped and Mr. Friar wheezed at his pathetic joke. Lydia smiled shyly. I caught her eye and winked. She smiled and blushed, I guess you could say I’m just a regular ol’ charm machine. Yup, that’s me, the boy who wore his mother's lipstick and died a chunk of his hair blonde, I mean I think I’m a catch. There was something really familiar about Lydia Grey. The longer I stared at her the more positive I was that I must’ve known her from somewhere. Who knows, maybe we were married in our past lives. Not that I believe in any of that crap, I just think sometimes it would be cool, If I believed in it I mean. And sorry, if what I said was offensive. But that’s just how I feel, if you ask me all religion is a crock of crap, I mean it just doesn’t make any more sense to me to believe in Jesus then Santa Claus. But I get it, I get why people believe in it and I see the appeal, I guess I just think it does more harm than good. What really gets me though, is those people with those real bad illnesses in the hospitals, the ones that pray like crazy and when they finally get better and they call it a “miracle.” What gets me is if it was really the work of god, then all anybody’d have to do when they get sick is pray real hard right? But that’s not how they tell you, they tell you that God chooses who dies, and sometimes as much as you pray he still decides against you. They tell you praying gets you in good with God though, establishes a relationship with him so when you do die, you get to go to heaven. But if that’s really the way it is, then any sick freak can go to heaven in the end. If I really did believe in God, I think in the end I wouldn’t want to hang around in heaven, with all the saps who wasted half their lives praying to spend the afterlife with a lot of people who don’t deserve to be there. How’s that Billy Joel lyric go? “Id rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun”? Something like that anyway. Ill tell you that Billy Joel had the right idea. I mean im not saying I’d want to go hang around with a bunch of terrorists and jackasses in hell, but I’m sure there are some people down there that only had a few screw ups in life, like drinking a beer on jesus’s birthday or something, and they never prayed a day in their lives so “whoop!” now your in hell sorry! But I’d bet they’d be a hell of a lot more fun to be around than any angels singing and crying about the miracle of God. Why am I even talking about any of this? I just said I don’t believe in God. I get so sidetracked. I wonder sometimes if my parent's backwards-ass priorities transferred down to me, and that’s why I can never seem to make a damned decision not even with my own thought process. By the time I’m done thinking of all of this class has ended and we’ve done literally nothing. Actually I think Brendon Conner gave Brandy Jackson three new hickies on her neck. At least he accomplished something in this class. The old-fashioned bell rings, signaling the end of class and for the herd of us droolers to head to our next period. I swing out the door and wait patiently until I see Lydia’s blonde head as she comes out of the class. I step in next to her and she turns to me startled.  
“I figured you could use a guide, one that doesn’t attack you with questions or immediately try and get in your pants the first day of school.” She smiles and raises an eyebrow.  
“So that’s not what you're doing right now?” I’m surprised and her witty response and impressed with myself for actually talking to her.  
“Nah I figured I’d at least wait untill the second day.” I grin and grab her schedule from her hand. She’s got English next with Mrs. Keith, a teacher whose only slightly more animated then Mr. Friar. I mean at least she tries to teach. Lydia laughs at my answer and shakes her head.  
“So what’s your name, Mr. tour guide?”  
“James, but everyone calls me Carter. And trust me I’m no tour guide. That would imply that there’s a tour to give and this place is really only a step above a shitty road-side zoo, not a place that really deserves a grand tour.” She nods.  
“Fair enough. So what class do you have next?” She leans towards me and peaks at the schedule in my hands. Her hair smells like cinnamon and it makes me dizzy.  
“Sadly not the same one as you, I’ve got AP chem with Mrs. Dailey. And you’re lucky enough to be in the presence of one of the eight wonders of the world! The fantastic Mrs. Keith, who drools enough when she speaks to fill three kiddie pools a day.” Lydia groans.  
“Gross really? Are all the teachers here weird?” I raise an eyebrow at her.  
“Yes, only slightly less so than the students. See that guy over there? He collects pieces of bread who he thinks resemble dead presidents. And that girl? She collects cat hair. I know because she brought a bag in for show-and-tell in fourth grade.” Lydia covers her mouth with her hand and laughs.  
“Wow you seem to know everyone’s secrets around here. I guess I should be worried you might found out mine.” She grins coyly and my heart does a little flip. I just shrug.  
“Nah, trust me I’m the weirdest guy here. I should be more worried about you finding out mine-“ I’m interrupted when a group of popular kids stroll up to us. See in my school we don’t really have "popular kids", we have a group of slightly more attractive, slightly better groomed kids who play sports and think they're shit smells like roses. The other kids in the hall part for them like they’re a pack of lions, which is actually pretty accurate. Timothy Beck and Hannah Bay have their arms wrapped around each other like they’re on a ship that’s about to sink. They both give me the same disgusted look, like I’m a bug or something. Which in all fairness is a step up from the way they usually look at me, like I’m a bug on dog poop. Hannah jabs her hand out violently towards Lydia.  
“Hey I’m Hannah Bay, this is my boyfriend Timothy. I like, really like your shoes. They’re like, really cute.” She snaps her gum obnoxiously and Timothy grunts in greeting like a warthog. He kinda smells like one too. They’re the typical high school popular couple, the cheerleader and the quarterback. But because it's my shitty little high school they’re like the budget versions of the stereotype that I was sure only existed in movies. Only slightly more attractive than the rest of us scum, though they act like they’re the king and queen, which I guess they are. Though, I’m not sure of being king and queen of Shitland is really something to be proud of. Lydia somewhat startled, shakes Hannah’s hand. Hannah takes this as an invitation and grabs Lydia’s arm and begins dragging her away from me.  
“C’mon Ill walk you to your class. You definitely don’t want to walk with him, he’s like, totally weird.” I shake my head.  
“Yeah no that’s cool Hannah, just talk about me like I’m not five feet away.” I wave cheerfully to Lydia who looks terrified, and to Hannah whose glaring daggers.  
“Have fun Lydia! It was nice meeting you! Try not to let her eat you.” I shoot her one final wink and turn on my heel, whistling happily on my way to class.

It’s kinda funny how an environment or room can suddenly change a persons mood. 

I’m walking home from school, thoughts of Lydia swirling in my brain. I can’t get those bright eyes and honey hair out of my head. I can already feel myself sinking into my old familiar pattern of inevitable heartbreak. You would think my spirit would have been crushed by now and I would have given up on love altogether, especially with my parents being the shining example of a relationship, but despite all my shortcomings, a strong spirit is something I actually carry. Something about Lydia is just different. For one, I actually talked to her instead of creepily admiring her from afar. And two, she actually talked back. Wow ok, so those are my standards for love, a girl who actually talks back to me. Gee I’m really setting my sights high. As I’m walking I hear the crunch of gravel beneath wheels, and I turn to see one of my only friends Dustin Biggs approach on his bike. He rolls up next to me and grins ecstatically. Dustin’s a heavier guy, with thin fraying blonde hair and a chubby face that makes him seem way more angelic than he is, in fact he kinda looks like a cherub, one of those fat little baby angels.  
“Yoooo my man Carter. Did you see the new issue of Playboy? Its hawwt.” I roll my eyes.  
“Dustin this isn’t the 70’s. You know internet porn exists right? And no I haven’t, Im going virgin on that stuff to try and grow closer to God.” Dustin laughs and almost falls off his bike and even I have to grin at my own bullshit.  
“Yeah sure ok, hey you coming over later? I got the new Fallout, waited six months for it, better be the tits.” I cringe at his stupid expression, Dustin’s pretty funny but he’s weird with the stuff he says, its like he tries to hard or something and sometimes he says stuff only people from 70’s movies say.  
“Ill ask my parents but you know they hate when we hang out, my dads convinced you’re my gay lover and we spend the whole time making out.” Dustin snorts and makes lazy circles around me with his bike.  
“Dude your dads a nut job. And you would have to be way hotter for me to even consider.” I shake my head and laugh.  
“Ill ask. Hey how come you weren’t at school today?” I just realized I hadn’t seen him at all today.  
“Man f school. I’m just going to end up working for my dads company so why does it even matter?” I guess he’s right. Dustin’s dad owns a small lumber company that supplies us and the surrounding towns. It’s a pretty nice business, honestly Dustin’s lucky to be inheriting it, even if it’s a little safe, to be born and bred into your destiny and not make one for yourself. That’s sounds sappy but its just how I feel. Dustin glances back at me from his bike.  
“Besides it’s the first day, what could I have possibly missed, did ol’ friar finally keel over and turn to dust?” I shake my head “Exactly, so nothing of real importance was missed.” Me and Dustin have a bet going on when we think Mr. Friar will either die or retire, I know that’s super morbid and messed up but in this town there’s not really much to do except make weird bets and fall in love with girls way out of our league. Speaking of which,  
“Well you did miss the super-hot new girl.” I grin. Dustin screeches to a halt on his bike, almost summersaulting himself over the handle bars, he turns to me.  
“There’s a new girl? Why did you not tell me this super crucial information! And I thought we were friends… describe her.” I describe Lydia to Dustin, not in great detail just the parts I know he cares about. Poor guy looks like my dogs when they see a piece of juicy steak, he’s practically drooling. He groans as we approach my house.  
“Dammit I would have given my left nut to have gone to school today!” He lifts his head up towards the sky and takes his hands off the handle bars, holding them in a praying motion.  
“Dear god, please give me strength in my time of need, I’m 17, I’m horny, and you finally throw a hot girl my way, only to have me miss the chance to meet her.” I shake my head at him and shove him, he wobbles on his bike.  
“C’mon dude don’t be gross, don’t you think she’s sick of guys doing that to her?” Dustin shrugs and grins, and sticks out his hand for our handshake we made in third grade.  
“Alright, go run into psycho dad and your hot mom and ask if you can come over Ill wait here, totally not thinking about hot new girl.” I roll my eyes in disgust.  
“Dustin I told you stop calling my mom hot its gross!” In all fairness, Dustin thinks most living breathing human girls are hot, his standards are about as high as the Church of Scientology which lets be real, will take anyone with cash. I run up to the front steps off my house and inside. Instantly my mood takes a dive. Its weird how depressed I get whenever I’m home. The atmosphere just sucks the light out of me. My mother is in the kitchen peeling potatoes, and my fathers no where in sight, which I decide is definitely a good thing, hopefully he’s deep in the woods killing baby animals. I cautiously walk up to my mom.  
“Hey mom” I start. She jumps violently, accidently nicking herself with the potato peeler, she hisses in pain.  
“Dammit James! Don’t sneak up on me like that.” I run over and grab the towel off of the oven and press it to her cut.  
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” She glares and whips her hands away from mine. I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs as my father stomps downstairs.  
“What’s all the noise.” He grunts. He sees my mom with the bloody towel, and me standing there looking guilty. He charges and lunges at me, his hand closes around my throat, pushing me up against the wall.  
“What did you do to your mother you sick freak?” He roars. I struggle to breathe and claw at his tree trunk arms.  
“Nothing-*gasp*-it-*gasp*-was-*gasp*-an-*gasp*-accident!” He finally lets go and goes to check on my mom. I glare at him, feeling a sudden rush of bravery that comes with the adrenaline of almost being choked to death.  
“Its not like you don’t hurt her on purpose when you treat her like your personal punching dummy, you bag of dicks!” He whips around to attack, and the look of pure rage on his face is enough for the brief bout of bravery to leave me. He lunges but I’m already dashing up the stairs to my room and grabbing my back pack full of overnight stuff. I always have one packed, in case of times like this when I need to make a quick escape (its happened more than once). I hear my father charge up the stairs and panic strikes my heart. He bursts in my room, and I dart over my bed, he chases me and I slip by him and bound down the stairs, before I leave I shoot my mom an apologetic look.  
“I’m sorry mom.”I swear she gives me a sympathetic glance, but before I can process it I’m out the door and racing towards Dustin. I hop on the back of his bike and he pushes off.  
“Go go go!” I cry, as my father bursts through the door, screaming after me. I use the last of my courage to flip him off as we take off down the road towards Dustin’s house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok just to clarify, I know Carter is a little confusing as a character because he veers off track a lot and gets distracted, that's not something I did for purpose of adding important details to the plot it's more just who he is as a character. As someone who lives with ADHD I wanted to create a character that not just I but others with ADHD could relate to, a common thing in people with ADHD is that we get really distracted and can't stick to a point, at least thats how it is for me. Also I know the mood of the chapters is a bit jarring as it goes from happy to suddenly depressed, to happy. That has more to do with Carter's home life and school, also the people he's around. Just wanted to clarify hope you liked the chapter <3


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